


IV. Rose red

by Ischa



Series: Untitled Harry/Pansy/Draco [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animagus, Dark, F/M, M/M, Multi, Non-Graphic Violence, Sexual Content, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-02
Updated: 2011-08-02
Packaged: 2017-10-22 03:45:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/233384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ischa/pseuds/Ischa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco goes missing.</p><p><i>Waiting isn’t something he is good at – Pansy handles the whole thing a lot better. They exhaust themselves by fucking like bunnies just to be able to sleep. The days are blurred grey lines, aren’t whole, aren’t days at all. Just broken hours. Summers without sun, winters without snow.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	IV. Rose red

**Title:** IV. Rose red  
 **Pairing:** Harry/Draco/Pansy  
 **Rating:** R  
 **Summary:** Draco goes missing.  
 **Warning(s):** sex, kinda dark, angst  
 **Author’s Notes:** Title from Emilie Autumn.  
 **Word Count:** 2.562  
 **Beta:** endure  
 **Disclaimer:** Don’t know, don’t own, not real.

\--+--  
The scent of roses is overwhelming, suffocating. He can’t see them, but of course the scent is a dead giveaway that there are roses nearby…everywhere. He hears Pansy laugh…and then he’s awake and the scent still lingers. There are voices coming from the kitchen’s direction and he isn’t surprised to hear Pansy sing…it was what woke him in the first place after all.  
He doesn’t make any noise barefooted like he is but of course Draco senses him anyway.

“Well…you’re awake.” He says.

“How do you do that?” Harry asks somehow irritated.

“It’s a gift.” He answers shrugging.  
Pansy smiles.  
Of course things aren’t perfect because…well things never are perfect. And being together with two people – Slytherins! – doesn’t make life any easier.

“Coffee?” Pansy asks.

“Yes…of course.” Harry answers rolling his eyes, because she asks it every time and there wasn’t a single morning he didn’t want any coffee.

“So sit down…do you want some breakfast with your poison?” Draco asks not looking away from the stove.

“He does need it.” Pansy says.

“You think I wasn’t good enough?” Harry’s voice is teasing.

“Oh…baby, you were great…but you will need your strength…” she answers taking a sip from Draco’s favourite mug.

“I will?”

“Oh, yes!” she says smiling.

  
It’s not his fault that he thought Pansy’s comment was a little more…sex and a little less going into the PARK!!! Everyone would’ve thought that, right? Right. He did of course know that it’s a habit for both of them to go to the park, to sit down on a bench and watch children play. That they do it once a week – mostly on Saturdays but it’s still somehow…unsettling? Because why do they do it? He didn’t ask and they never offered an explanation but then again… explanations don’t seem to be something they do often. Might be a Slytherin-thing.  
On the way home…well to the flat Pansy shares with Draco, she picks up some roses from a front garden. (Harry would call it stealing but…well.) Draco just looks at them and she smiles shyly at him.  
“Whatever.” He says.  
There is something Harry doesn’t understand, doesn’t know about their relationship – maybe he never will because Slytherins are keeping their secrets close.  
He wonders how he fits in? How does it come that he didn’t freak out that one Saturday all this weeks ago? How does it come he dates the woman who said: “Hand Potter over to the Dark Lord.”?

~*~  
Sometimes he just watches. (The first time was an accident. Really!)  
Pansy and Draco are just similar in one thing: Their skin. Pale.  
Because: where she is gentle curves he is sharp angles, where she is chubby and soft flesh he is hard and lean muscles. Well maybe two…he muses, they are both incredible sexy – especially together. They’re moving against each other like snakes on a warm day, all slow heat and sensual motion. Licking and tasting every inch of their skin, sliding their bodies together in an erotic eternal dance. He is sure they could do it for hours.  
On the few occasions he watched them he didn’t have the patience to see it until the end. He just crawled into bed with them.

~*~  
“You’re staring again.” Draco says on the ninth Saturday of their ménage-a –trois.

“Where did you get the scars?” He asks softly.

“Potter…” Pansy’s voice in his ear; along with her hot breath and wet tongue. “You don’t ask such questions during breakfast.” She says.

“Right,” he answers irritated, because apparently you don’t ask those questions either when you’re fucking, or walking through the park, or during dinner, shopping etc.  
Seems you don’t ask them at all.

~*~  
During week ten he brings Pansy roses because…she seems to like them and well…it’s after all something boyfriends do, right?

“Oh!” she says and smiles at him.

“You didn’t bring me any?” Draco asks lazily, looking up at him. He’s sprawled on the sofa with a book in his hand.

“You want me to buy you roses?” Harry wants to know.

“He is feeling particular girly today.” Pansy says and Draco throws a pillow at her.

“Actually I can’t stand roses…buy me something else.” He says. There is a sharpness in his voice Harry hasn’t heard since their school days.

~*~  
The scars just don’t want to leave him alone. Ever.  
Especially when he’s fucking Draco from behind, because he can see them, watch them move. Scars paler even than his skin. He’s trailing them with his fingers, with his lips, his tongue. Trying to find out why they’re there, marking Draco’s skin.  
Now that he’s allowed to touch them. To touch but not to ask about them.  
Sometimes – like now – it makes him mad. Makes him want to hurt Draco. Makes him thrust harder as if to force Draco into submission. It never works.  
Draco just smirks lazily at him afterwards.

~*~  
He has no idea what Draco is doing for a living – maybe nothing at all – but then…you can’t be an Auror and not hear things.

“You know it is somehow creepy…your whole ‘watching children in the park’- thing,” he says on a Saturday evening. Pansy is lying on the sofa with him and Draco is reading something.

“You don’t have to come along if you don’t like it,” he says bored.

“That is not what I mean.”

“It calms…” Pansy says softly. Something in her voice lets him shut up and Draco looks up from his book. He looks annoyed.

~*~  
“So what do you do for a living?” he asks three months into this whole affair.

“Selling my body.” Draco answers putting a mug on the table. (It’s Harry’s mug – yes he has a mug by now – it’s red and there is an orange cat on it. It looks ridicules.)

“Really.”

“Really. You don’t have to believe me…” he says shrugging.

“Believe you what, dear?” Pansy asks stealing his mug again – she HAS one on her own.

“How I earn my living.” Draco answers.

“Oh, he sells his body.” She says.

“Yes, right. He told me that.”

“Good, now breakfast?”

“In a minute.” Draco answers stealing the mug back from her.

  
The next week he brings her roses again because he likes to see her smile when she gets them, and he likes to see her arrange them in a vase, and he likes how her face lights up when she smells them.

“You keep forgetting me.” Draco says not looking up. The smell is everywhere.

“You said you don’t like roses.”

“I said you should buy me something else…” Draco answers, standing up and leaving the living room.

“He’s grumpy.” Pansy says when he asks her about it later.

“Why?”

“Something to do with work.”

“Don’t ask, don’t tell?”

“Yes,” she answers and kisses his cheek.

~*~  
“You’re selling information.” Harry says one Saturday. Draco is making breakfast again and Pansy is showering – she always showers last, because she says she needs her time.

“What are you talking about?”

“Your…” he’s gesturing around, but of course Draco can’t see it, because he is making toast. He always is making fucking toast when Harry wants to talk. “business.” He finishes.

“Well…”

“What, is this one of those ‘no point in lying now’-things again?”

“Yes.”

“How long are you doing it?”

“A while…” Draco answers shrugging. The scar is dancing on his skin, the big one, the tempting one.

“You’re using your Animagus-form for that.” Not a question.

“Yes, easiest way to do it…”

“Because people think you’re just a big dog or because they are afraid you will rip their throats out?”

“A bit of both I suppose.”

“You’re not registered…and don’t you want to know how I found out?”

“Potter, you are living in this flat on the weekends…and you didn’t see a big white dog since…the first week…” Draco answers. Harry just knows he rolls his eyes.

“Aren’t you afraid?” he wants to know, Draco turns to look at him putting a mug on the table.

“Your favourite with cinnamon,” he says while doing it.

“Draco!”

“Why the hell should I be afraid?”

“I’m an Auror and you are a criminal…”

“You are sleeping with the enemy…how poetic.” Draco answers sitting down.

“You lied to me.”

“I didn’t LIE to you. I just didn’t tell you everything and…”

“What?”

“Are you ever thinking about other people, Potter?”

“Of course! That’s why I walked out to kill the Dark Lord or did you think it was for fun? Honestly. And that’s why I’m an Auror…”

“Yes, yes…you are saving little puppies…I know. Are you thinking about us?”

“Like in: You and me?”

“Like in me and Pansy.” Draco says.

“I…of course…”

“Not just about how to get us naked, Potter.”

“I wasn’t thinking about that!” he protests, but it’s hard not to think about sex with Pansy naked in the shower and Draco sitting here with just his pants on.

“Whatever.” He says taking a sip from his mug.

“No, I want to talk about it.”

“I do not.”

“We are not doing only stuff you want.” Harry says.

“Yes, we do…even if you are trying to…force me into submission.”

“I’m not.”

“Please don’t insult my intelligence.” He answers with another sip of his coffee.

~*~  
Draco is irritating and Pansy isn’t helping. He is pacing in the kitchen the whole time and he isn’t sharing the bed with them. (It’s not that he always shares their bed…but it’s conspicuous after a few nights.) So Harry goes all suspicious – and with the little chat they had a while ago…

He lefts the bed in the middle of the night, because he can’t sleep anyway, and finds Draco in the kitchen. Sitting upon the floor. He’s leaning against the counter, his eyes closed and his lips open the slightest bit. The cut on his foot isn’t visible anymore, but there is a faint scar.  
Harry is just watching for a while until Draco opens his eyes and looks at him.

“See something you like?” he asks teasing. And Harry is taken aback because he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know if he likes Draco, he didn’t think about it, he just did…things with Pansy and with Draco – never with Draco alone. He still didn’t tell his friends about it, he’s hiding under a Glamour when he goes out with her because of the ‘Prophet’. Maybe Draco was right to ask him if he ever thinks about them.

“Maybe,” he answers after a while.  
Draco smiles.  
“What are you doing here?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Draco answers shrugging.

“Why don’t you like roses?” Harry wants to know, Draco looks up at him.

“I just don’t like them.”

“Yeah…right. Come on. Let’s share secrets.” Harry says.

“So you will share one too?”

“Yes.” And oh, that was perhaps a mistake. But Gryffindors play fair.

“The Manor had a rose garden.” Draco answers and Harry doesn’t know what the hell that means…but then: Draco doesn’t live in the Manor, he doesn’t visit it, doesn’t speak about it.

“Oh.” He says, because really what else can he say?

“Now you, Potter.”

“You could call me by my first name.”

“We aren’t lovers.”

“What are we then?” Harry wants to know. Draco shrugs.

“Does it matter? You don’t even know if you like me,” he says closing his eyes.

“I like to sleep with you.” Harry offers, what he doesn’t say is that he likes to wake up with him too. Draco laughs: Sharp but with humour.

“Who wouldn’t?” he answers.

“Git.” Harry says, crossing the room and sitting down beside Draco. The floor is cold and Draco’s body heat is a sharp contrast to it.

“So, Potter…”

“Yes?”

“Wanna make out?”

~*~  
Pansy Parkinson storming Auror Potter’s office isn’t something the ministry sees often. (He has to find out how she did it in the first place – he could sure learn a trick or two.)

“Pansy!”

“He’s gone.” She says matter-of-factly, her voice is calm and her face is a perfectly blank mask.

“How long?”

“Since Monday.” It’s Wednesday and he never is gone so long without a proof of live. (For he fears her wrath.)

“What was he working on?”

“I don’t know…I just don’t want to be alone…” she says and that’s the second admission she is scared to death.

  
They can’t do much because they have no clue where to start, Harry asks around anyway. But he isn’t even sure what he looks for – the wolf is just one disguise.  
He works, ignores his friends (he is sorry about it), comes home to her and crawls into bed with her. She needs the comfort – he needs it too.  
“It’s just stupid…reckless…he shouldn’t do it anymore,” she whispers, her skin glistening in the dim light. Sweat, spite and other things. “He should have his rose garden back…he should be here.” Harry kisses her to shut her up. He feels guilty.

  
Waiting isn’t something he is good at – Pansy handles the whole thing a lot better. They exhaust themselves by fucking like bunnies just to be able to sleep. The days are blurred grey lines, aren’t whole, aren’t days at all. Just broken hours. Summers without sun, winters without snow.  
Until he comes back Saturday night.  
He is pale, bruised, bloody and naked. Just standing in the doorway watching them. The room smells like rotten roses and he hates it. There is all the rage, anger and fear inside him and he just wants to scream, he can’t so he growls.

“Draco.” She breathes and he leaps, like an animal, a big angry deathly animal. She isn’t afraid, she just spreads her arms and lets him crawl in.  
Some of the bruises are fresh – they look like rose pedals on snow, Harry thinks.

“Where the hell have you been?” he wants to know, he’s angry because…he was afraid, scared to death. Everything was aching, hurting inside him.

“Take out the damn roses.” Draco answers, his voice is raspy, hoarse. Pansy combs through his hair, whispering shooting words, singing maybe and Harry just banishes the roses.  
There is nothing else to do for him right now.  
Harry realizes while he kisses bruises, and scares, and cuts that he will never be able to really understand because Slytherins keep their secrets close (but if he ever finds out who did that to Draco that person will never be the same again). And he realises something else, that he loves Pansy, but that he needs Draco too.  
He wasn’t whole when Draco was gone, she wasn’t whole either. Sex wasn’t pleasure: it was something they did to numb their minds, to numb their bodies. Because they couldn’t – just plain COULDN’T – face the possibility to lose everything.

  
There is one more scar on Draco’s back, he traced it for hours last night when he made Draco scream and moan and curse.  
Pansy is in the shower, he can hear her sing and Draco hums the same song making breakfast.  
His favourite cinnamon coffee with vanilla sugar in his mug, and perfectly made toast, and jam he doesn’t like because Draco is a Slytherin and sworn enemy. He eats it anyway.

“You’re staring again.” Draco says teasing.

“Yes, I do. Does it bother you?”

Draco ignores that question asks instead “You see something you like?”

“No, I see someone I love.” Harry answers matter-of-factly.

~end~


End file.
